Clint decided not to stop in and see the sheriff. He certainly couldn’t trust that Moreland would not go right to Restin and tell him that he was back. The lawman wouldn’t scare as much as the lawyer did.
He stopped into a small café for some food, wrapped it up and took it back to the Drinkwater with him.
“How did it go?” Buck asked. The front door was open again. Clint didn’t bother telling him to lock it, this time.
“Just like I thought,” Clint said. “She’s supposed to get her mother’s money when she turns twenty-one, which she recently did.”
“You’d think he would’ve killed her before that,” Buck said.
“That’s what I thought,” Clint said. “His lawyer’s been holding up the transfer as long as he can. I think it took a while for Restin to finally make his decision.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to talk to Terry and see what she wants to do,” Clint said. “After all, the money’s hers.”
“Well, whatever happens,” Buck said, “I’m with you. I’d kinda like to get my place back.”
“We’ll work on that, Buck,” Clint promised.
He rode back out to the small house and found, to his relief, that Terry had listened to him and stayed put.
“What’d you bring?” she asked, anxiously.
“Fried chicken.”
“Ooh,” she said, “gimme.”
He handed her the wrapped package and she tore into it and started on a chicken leg.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Give me a wing.”
She passed it over to him and they sat on the floor and ate.
“What did you find out?”
She listened intently as he explained everything he’d learned from Buck, and then from Eugene Barkley after reading the will.
When he was done she sat there, chewing, looking slightly stunned.
“I never knew,” she said. “I never knew my mother left the money to me.”
“Your father didn’t want you to know,” he said. “That much is obvious.”
“Oh my God,” she said, “he really does want me dead, doesn’t he?”
He reached out and touched her hand. This was obviously the moment that fact had become very real for her.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“We’ll have to make sure,” he said, “he never gets the chance to do it again.”
“You mean … kill him first? Oh Clint, I may not love him, but I don’t think I can—”
“No,” Clint said, “not that. We have to prove he tried to have you killed.”
“You mean … legally?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And send him to jail?”
“Can you do that?”
She firmed her jaw and said, “Oh yes, I can do that. I can do that for my mother.”
“Well,” Clint said, “why don’t we do it for your mother, and do it for you, too, while we’re at it?”
He grabbed a chicken leg and, in the absence of glasses, they clinked legs as she said, “Agreed.”